Roulette
by idioticonion
Summary: Barney gambles with his life. Alternative Universe Story, set some time after The Rough Patch in Season 5. Story inspired by the TV show Numb3rs Season 6, Episode 3, 7 men out .


**Roulette**

**Round 1**

There's terror, gun-metal grey, eating him up inside. In that moment, when Barney lifts the revolver, spins the chamber and presses the muzzle to his own temple, he finally feels genuine fear.

Not that he hasn't been scared before now. But it's been a kind of exhilarated sensation, the same one that he always feels when he gambles- when he _used_ to gamble- real big. Now, as he stares into the eyes of his opponent across the table, the money is the last thing on his mind.

The money, the obscene, ridiculous, mind-blowing amount of money. It's an amount that he can never hope to win, not without doing this, playing this game.

Just him, and the man across the table. One gun, one bullet, taking turns to chamber, spin and fire at point blank range until one of them loses the game.

Some game!

So there's terror; it grips his stomach and churns it around. It makes his hands tremble so hard that he almost drops the gun. And eventually, when his heart is pounding so hard that it threatens to crack his ribs, in that perfect, sweat-drenched moment, Barney looks up, grins brazenly into the camera, and he pulls the trigger.

*--*--*

"Did you hear about these people dying? The gun thing?" Ted asks. It's early evening, one cold day in February, and the gang are huddled together on the couch at Ted and Robin's place, watching the game. Barney's relegated to the floor at Robin's feet but he doesn't mind. It's easier for them to talk over him when they can't see his expression.

"What's that honey?" Lily asks him, shifting her shoulders so that she can snuggle in tight against her husband's broad chest.

"These guys," Ted elaborates, "Three of them shot themselves on the same day. Last night. Three different guys, within, like, a five block radius."

Marshall shivers. "Whoa. Chills." He squeezes Lily's hand. "Suicide? Murder? Accident?"

Robin snorts, her knee bumping against Barney's back. "Three accidents? Even American gun owners aren't that stupid. Besides, we did an update on the show this morning and they found another one. It's four dead guys now. And they all shot themselves in the head."

"Or they were murdered!" Marshall interjects. "And it was made to look like suicide. Maybe it's a serial killer!"

"You think?" Lily says, her voice wavering.

From the floor, Barney wonders if he should say something, if it would be weird for him to stay silent this long. What would he normally do?

Trouble is, since he first felt the gun in his hand, since he first pulled the trigger and heard that soft click, nothing seems normal. He feels… different. Not immortal exactly, not invulnerable, but more powerful. He survived. He lived to play the next round.

But if he hadn't, he'd have been one of four bodies found last night and this morning. And then what would his friends say?

"You're suspiciously quiet, B!" Ted says, toeing his friend's hip. "You guys at GNB have something to do with this?"

Barney can't see, but he would bet anything that Marshall just glares at Ted as he says "Hey! GNB legal department here. I could have you for slander, Mosby!"

He would bet anything.

He'll have to bet everything again tonight, for real. That's a problem.

"I gotta go guys," he says, and struggles to his feet. He can't do this, can't face them, can't just be _normal_ when the world is sitting on his shoulders. It's too much.

He doesn't see Robin's expression when he pulls away from her outstretched hand and tries to smile, to deflect, to pretend he's got a date.

He wonders, if he were a better man, if he'd have tried to say his goodbyes to them.

But instead, he leaves, and he thinks about the money. And the consequences of his actions.

*--*--*

**Round 2**

It doesn't get any easier.

This isn't like playing regular roulette, or even poker or blackjack. This isn't like when you're on a roll, or when you're in a slump, and you think whichever streak of luck you're carrying will sweep you away like a wave.

This isn't like Atlantic City or Vegas. There's no neon-bright lights or bells or the whir of slot machines. There's no tannoy announcements or cocktail waitresses or piano players or anything reassuring and familiar.

This is just a room, with a wooden table, and a video camera operated by a pale-faced wraith of a man. There are two chairs, one for him, and one for the new guy.

Winner takes all.

Loser isn't just out by a few bucks.

The gun sits between them. Each time one of them takes a shot, the camera guy takes a cloth and wipes the barrel free of sweat and fingerprints.

On the second spin, Barney wants to get up and run away screaming. On the third, he's stone-cold certain that he's going to die.

But still he smirks and cracks the occasional joke and plays up to the shark-black camera lens.

The gunshot, when it comes, is deafeningly loud, and almost makes him pee his pants. It doesn't seem like there's enough blood.

*--*--*

Robin confronts him in the alley outside the Lusty Leopard. "What the fuck is going on?" She says, grabbing his lapels and shoving him hard against the rough brick wall.

"Suit! Suit!" He protests, batting against her hands until she lets him go.

"I heard the gunshot!" Robin says, wild eyed, her mascara smudged in lines across her cheeks. "What in the hell have you gotten yourself into?"

Barney shakes his head, lips clamping shut. He can't tell.

"There's an urban legend," Robin says as she takes a step backwards, and her voice takes on a hard edge of cold steel. "There's this legend, Marshall was telling me about it. And it sounds so stupid, so clueless, that I'm kinda leaning towards believing it right now. Because it's just the kind of thing that you'd get mixed up in, Stinson."

Barney's stomach clenches again and bile rises up in his throat. He feels like he's going to up-chuck despite the fact that he hasn't eaten all day.

Nerves.

"You know what the legend is?" Robin says, tossing her head back with a bark of laughter. "The legend is that there's this game of Russian Roulette. You know, with the gun and one bullet? And a group of high rollers are hand-picked to play and the payout's the biggest - like enough to clear all their debts. And these guys, these stupid, sad, deluded, _selfish_ guys, they all play. They play and they play," Robin turns her back on him, "and one by one they die. They die, Barney. Because you know the funny thing? You know the kicker?"

She pins him against the wall with a glare and he shakes his head.

"The kicker is that the game is rigged. One guy's a plant, and they fix the gun. They fix it, B-man," She barks the nickname like it's a curse. "The players all die."

He holds her gaze and slowly he shrugs.

"They all die," she repeats, like he didn't hear her. "Selfish, stupid way to go. If you're in debt… why couldn't you come to us for help?"

"You're wrong," he wheezes, because she knows too much. How does she know so much?

"Nope," she says. "I know I'm right. I followed you, I asked questions. I'm a reporter, remember."

"You're wrong," he repeats, stubbornly, because she sees everything. She always did.

"It's only money. Just walk away," Robin reaches out, tries to take his hand, her fingers outstretched, like a lifeline.

But he pulls away. "Don't tell-" He says, then he closes his eyes to her tears, his ears to her pleas.

One more game, that's all. One more.

He knows it's fixed. He's not stupid.

That's why he's bet every cent he has on his opponent in the final round.

*--*--*

**Round 3**

Barney knows how this works. It's all about the money. As he plays the game, as they all play the game, there's a thousand men like him, stuck in offices and apartments around the country watching on their computer. They watch an encrypted feed from a pay-per-view website. They watch in the same way that people slow down an rubberneck when there's an accident on the freeway.

The game is rigged so he's tried to be entertaining. It's all about the viewing figures. The more viewers, the more bets are placed on him and his opponent. The clock is passing the fifty million mark right now.

Before this, the end game, it's only been important that he stays in the game. Now he knows it's over, it's a strangely calming feeling.

It's all about the money.

There are more real people in the room this time. He counted about fifteen. The rules, as they were first explained to him, were that he could get up and walk at any time. Somehow it feels like the stakes are way higher now and that-

There's a click from the other side of the table and the gun is pushed towards him. The other guy smiles knowingly.

It's too soon.

He doesn't want to die.

But it's about the money.

Barney picks up the gun, he hefts it in his right hand, it feels so familiar now.

He closes his eyes and his last thought is that at least this way his Mom'll be safe, before the room is flooded in bright, white light.

*--*--*

Suddenly there are cops - at the door, with guns and flashlights. Suddenly the room is way too crowded but he still sees Robin and Marshall standing by the door. Barney tries to get up, but strong hands push him back down into the rickety plastic chair.

With all the money them make from this game, you'll have thought they could afford to get nicer chairs, Barney thinks, randomly.

There are fifteen people in the room and all of them have guns, all of them are raised up and pointed towards the door. Blood pounds in Barney's ears and it deafens him to the shouted conversation but all he hears is "fixed" and "illegal" and Robin looks so scared.

Marshall looks so scared.

Why did they come for him? To rescue him?

Because it's all about money. It's all about entertaining the masses, being popular enough to survive to the next round.

It's freakin' American Idol for gamblers.

And so, what could be more heartwarming than the story of a son who's Mom got into a hopeless amount of debt to a shark who broke her arm as an incentive for her to get him the money?

At 5000% interest.

Robin looks so scared.

It has never occurred to Barney that his life is actually worth anything. From the moment that his Mom had tearfully admitted exactly what was going on with her, he'd considered himself to be expendable. He's single, no girlfriend, no kids. His friends find him entertaining but don't seem to like him that much. Not really. Not deep down.

The greatest thing Barney ever did with his life he was doing now. He was gambling it to pay off his Mom's debt. It sounds so simple, so cliche. But it's his _Mom_. When he met her at the ER, when he saw what those bastards had done to her, he would have done anything to stop that happen again. Anything, even give his own life. He still would.

Robin shakes her head, across the smoky distance between him and the door. He wonders if she knows the whole story, or if she still thinks this is just about him falling off the wagon, getting in too deep, being crazy careless, being selfish.

He wonders and he sees the pain in her eyes. Maybe she doesn't care about his reasons. Maybe Robin just cares about him.

The master magician knows all about misdirection. While everyone's attention is on the cops and the door, Barney reaches for the gun and twists the grip, exposing the circuitry of the remote-control mechanism. Hurriedly, he finds a wire and pulls.

The gun is rigged? Not anymore.

"Stop!" He yells suddenly, at the top of his lungs. "I'll do it. Just let me do this?"

He lifts the gun, knowing that the police are powerless to act without starting a full-scale firefight. He spins the chamber and it chick-whirrs, fast then slow then is silent. He'd like to say this is a noble act. He'd like to say he's being selfless. But if he was, he'd take the easy way out, go with the cops. It he was, he'd have done that in the first place.

He grins at the camera.

Money, misdirection and the house always wins.

Yes, somehow he's got a good feeling about this. Six chambers, one bullet. A one-in-six chance to die. He'll take those odds.

He presses the gun up against his skull and he pulls the trigger.


End file.
